


The Jets Side of Life

by MissOfTheTruestBlades



Series: The Jet-ventures [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Kinks, M/M, Size Kink, Winnipeg Jets, coach/player, light humiliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissOfTheTruestBlades/pseuds/MissOfTheTruestBlades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul Maurice has a secret that his team silently keeps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ladd

**Author's Note:**

> My first hockey fic and first attempt at smutty smut! Whoo! I will slowly add to this over time. Thanks for reading!

When Coach Paul Maurice took over the team, the Winnipeg Jets were pleased. He took their average-at-best team and turned them into a playoff team. What the team was more uncertain about was Coach Mo and how he fit into their personal lives. As far as the public was concerned, Paul Maurice was an average, heterosexual male. He was married, had children, the whole deal. Yet the team came to realise rather quickly that Maurice was anything but heterosexual. The team kept silent without being asked when they saw the coach a bit too comfortable with various males at team-exclusive events. They looked the other way when they occasionally felt his eyes lingering on them in the locker room. When the time came when the coach felt comfortable enough to make his first move on a member of the team, then, it came as no surprise that not a word was spoken about that either.  


It started after the last loss to Anaheim in the 2015 playoffs. The team was discouraged and beaten up, and Maurice was angry. And apparently horny as hell. When Coach Mo was particularly sexually frustrated, he got twitchy, the team knew. It was one of those things that the players would elbow each other and smirk about. Coach needs to get some would travel around the locker room or from player to player on the ice during practice. It was during such times that the usually friendly man would dash off as soon as possible and be unreachable for hours, when ordinarily he would hang back and chat with his players.  


In the locker room after the Ducks swept them, Paul Maurice was definitely twitchy. He couldn’t seem to hold a position for more than a second and his gum chewing had sped up dramatically. As a result, the players anticipated a quick departure once the post-game chat occurred. Yet as the minutes ticked by, he stayed. He made his rounds amongst them as usual; tossing compliments where they were deserved and criticisms where they were warranted. The boys gradually began to file off to the showers and still Coach Mo remained. Ladd looked up from placing his skates into his bag and saw Paul staring at him. A beckoning finger was tossed in his direction as the man walked in the direction of his office. Ladd followed quickly, uncertain about what was about to happen.  


He entered the office and sat on the opposite side of the desk from his coach.  


“Andrew. You’re injured so I’m saving my critiques for now. Not your best as I am certain you know.” Ladd nodded and dropped his eyes. He was disappointed that he had not been a better captain to his teammates during their short playoff run. “Now. I have another, more…delicate matter to discuss with you,” Maurice continued gently. “I know that you and the boys have figured me out by now. Obviously I am not the same in private as I am in the public eye. That being said, in the past I did something which I have found helps not only me but also the players on my team to improve.” As he paused, Ladd looked at him in confusion. Where was this going? “To be blunt, Andrew, I like to fuck my players. Not all of them, and never without consent of course. My question for you is, as team captain, can you allow this to happen?” Ladd was stunned. The coach wanted to fuck players? And was asking him for permission? Weird didn’t begin to cover the situation. “I need an answer now, Ladd.”  


“Never without consent. And no favours for sex right? No special privileges?” Paul shook his head. “Well then I guess so. I mean, why not right? It doesn’t hurt anyone. All of the boys are legal…”  


“Excellent,” said Paul, his face stretching with a small smirk. “Now another important question. Will you let me fuck you?” Andrew’s eyes locked with those of his coach. He thought briefly of his beautiful wife, and then of his multiple male lovers in college. He had always loved the male form, probably more than the female one. His wife was a fortunate exception, but could he really turn down a good fucking? He hadn’t taken it up the ass for years and he missed it.  


“Ok.” The word barely left his mouth before Maurice had locked the office door and began taking his clothes off. He gestured impatiently towards Andrew, suggesting that he get naked as well. When his last piece of clothing was gone, Maurice leered appreciatively down at Ladd’s half-erect penis.  


“That didn’t require much convincing now did it Andy? You’re on the upper end of the age group I prefer, but I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting to fuck that pretty little ass of yours” Paul growled as he advanced on his naked captain. The statement made Ladd’s cock twitch and his mouth go dry. “Over the desk now Andrew. I’ll prep you a bit this time, but if you agree to be one of my boys you had better be ready to take me without any in the future. I don’t waste time when I want a fuck, and if you can’t be ready for me when I want you then I’ll stick to being your coach. You can find someone else to screw you. Clear?” was the question as Ladd bent over the desk and Maurice wriggled a finger up his butt. Andrew groaned and nodded once, sharply. A second finger was jammed up next to the first, and quickly followed by a third. Ladd winced at the intrusion and clenched tightly around the fingers. Coach Mo slapped him on the ass and then caressed the back of his head. “Relax Andy. There’s a good boy. I expect your ass to beg for my cock, not try and keep it out. You do want it don’t you?” Another nod from the panting hockey player in front of him. After two more twists of his fingers, Paul pulled them out and pushed his hard cock into the newly stretched asshole.  


He paused with two inches of his wide, 8-incher inside, and then thrust hard, repeatedly, until his penis was enveloped fully in Ladd’s hole. A brutal fucking ensued, with Ladd keening in want, pain and lust as he was rammed into the desk over and over, Maurice’s cock never quite leaving him before it was jammed all the way back in again and again and again. Then, with little realisation that it was even coming, Ladd shot his semen all over the side of the desk he was pressed against. He pumped out the juices and they ran down the desk in little streams, some making it onto the floor. It was another minute or two of pounding before Paul emptied his sizeable cock into Ladd’s ass. As he softened, he stayed pressed up against the player, not allowing his dick to slip out. “Now Andy, do you think you can commit to being one of my boy’s?” Yet another nod from the well-fucked captain. “Memorise my size then Ladd. Because next time it’ll be ramming you like that with no fingers in advance. I suggest a good butt plug for days you’ll see me. One that’s flat so you can sit down.” With that he pulled out and began dressing. Andrew followed suit quickly. As he was about to slip out of the office, Coach Mo made a final statement. “Pass the rules on to the others if you please? Under 30s only. Oh, and one other thing. Get used to the plug. No excuses if you screw up on game day because it distracted you.” Ladd groaned as he let the door close behind him. What had he gotten himself into?


	2. Scheifele

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a summer of waiting, it's time for another boy to be chosen.

It was a long summer for Paul Maurice. Now that he had Ladd on board, he was craving his ass and those of the other boys he hoped to be able to screw in the coming season. By the time September rolled along, Maurice was walking around with a near-constant erection. The first day of meeting the team after summer went…slowly. He knew he couldn’t act while the new boys were in for training camp. Some of them were not going to be staying with the team and discretion was key. Gradually the regular season crept closer, and Maurice could feel more and more frequently the eyes of his players lingering on him when they thought he wasn’t looking. He hadn’t had any contact with any of them since that one great first time with Ladd at the end of the previous season, but Ladd had surreptitiously pulled him to a quiet corner during practice one day to let him know that many of the boys were eager to take up the offer should he present it to them.  


“Mark looked about ready to beg for it when Troubs told him about it,” Ladd had said under his breath. “Wheels says no thanks though. That’s all I’ve learned one way or the other.” The second was not much of a disappointment. Wheeler at 29 was about out of Coach Mo’s preferred age range anyways. But the first. The image of Scheifele on his knees, mouth wide waiting for Paul’s cock…The rest of the practice was a blur as Maurice tried to hide his erection from the players and other members of the coaching staff. His cock was throbbing by the end of it and he hurried off to the bathroom to take care of it. It was the first time he had ever been unprofessional in that sort of way, but it couldn’t be avoided. He came in moments, spurting hard into the toilet and keeping his mouth firmly closed to avoid drawing attention to himself. As he prepared to go out and address the team after their practice, he prayed for the strength to hold out another few weeks.  


It was after the 4-1 loss to L.A. that Coach Maurice finally reached breaking point. The newer players, while not yet in on the secret, had been informed of the twitching. So it was with amusement, and eager nervousness on the part of the returning players, that the team watched Coach wriggle around after the game. The speech was understandably brief; along the lines of a game well played but more third period consistency needed, and then they were free to go. All but one.  


“Scheifele!” Paul shouted over the din of the other players. Mark’s head whipped around like he’d been slapped as he attempted to locate his coach. Coach Mo crooked a finger at him and headed off towards his office, Scheifele nearly tripping over an abandoned skate in his haste to follow.  


When he reached Maurice’s office, the door was ajar. Scheifele entered slowly and saw Maurice in the midst of undressing.  
“Lock the door,” came the quiet but stern command. Scheifele scampered to obey and then went and stood before Maurice demurely. “You understand the rules?” A nod. “Are you prepared for me?” A nervous look and shake of the head had Paul making a displeased sound. Feeling the need to explain, Scheifele spoke.  


“I’m sorry, Coach. I didn’t know if you’d want me…and well. I didn’t really know how to be prepared.” With that, his gaze dropped to the floor and his head lowered in shame. Paul reached out and gripped Mark’s jaw tenderly but firmly and forced the boy to meet his eyes.  


“You’ve never had anyone touch your ass?” “No sir.” “Then you have nothing to be ashamed about. I like my boys young and I love knowing that I have them all to myself. At least as far as their asses are concerned,” he smirked. Mark relaxed a bit in relief. “Having said that, we’ll take it a bit slower while I teach you, but you still need to do as I say. I am not patient when it comes to sex. I expect you to rise to my expectations in this just as I do on the ice. Understood?” A nod. “Then let’s begin.”  


By this point Coach Maurice was about ready to explode. The first sex with a player in months and he had discovered that the boy he had fantasized about the most was a virgin to taking it up the ass. His dominant side roared in pleasure.  


He told Scheifele to strip and took off the rest of his own clothing. Mark’s eyes widened at the sight of his straining dick, and a keening noise began that the older man doubted the boy realised he was making. “You really want this don’t you my pretty boy?” Coach Mo growled softly. The keening intensified. “I think tonight I’ll fuck your pretty little throat, and we’ll save the real fun for another time. Oh. And you aren’t allowed to cum tonight. You’ve let Ehlers beat you in the point totals, so I don’t think you really want to. Maybe next time hmmm?” Mark looked crestfallen, but made no protest. He was going to be the perfect fuck with a bit of training. Paul just knew it.  


With that, Scheifele was told to kneel, open his mouth and take it. Maurice rested the tip of his giant dick on Mark’s lower lip, and without preamble thrust into the waiting mouth. He plunged in as far as he could before he sensed the unpracticed Scheifele was about to use his teeth against the invading organ, and pulled hastily out again. Mark coughed and spluttered for a moment before opening up again with no instruction. Paul nearly came right then at the perfect submission. He jammed in again, this time more shallowly until he felt that the boy was ready. Then he inched down into Mark’s throat, letting the boy swallow around him and get used to the sensation before he pulled out again. “No teeth. Take it like a good boy now Mark,” said Maurice. With that he was off. He fucked deep into Scheifele’s throat, feeling the gag but forcing down again with no pause. Again, again, again. Pull out for a breath. Then back into that delicious heat. Pounding into his face the way he soon intended to do with the boy’s ass. Then he was cumming deep down Mark’s throat, and had to pull out lest Scheifele bite him and choke on his cum at the same time. Seeing the look on the boy’s face, Maurice warned him not to spit any out.  


“My cum takes energy to produce. If I’m willing to give it to you, you treasure it. None leaves your mouth and none leaves your ass. You swallow and you plug. Only I tell you when the cum leaves your ass. Got it?” A flustered and flushed Scheifele nodded weakly from his place on the floor. “Good boy. You did very well Mark. I’m proud of you. Now work on those scoring opportunities okay? Oh. And buy a plug.” With that, Maurice dressed and left his office, leaving a naked and red-faced Scheifele to sort himself out.


	3. World Cup

     Coach Maurice stood behind the Team Europe bench. They were playing Team North America for the second time in the World Cup of Hockey preliminaries. Strategies and pointers flew through Paul's mind as the game progressed. Despite his apparent concentration, however, Maurice was distracted over and over again. Damn Scheifele. The boy looked amazing. Having the summer off had clearly not caught the forward being stagnant. He was even more toned than when Coach Mo had seen him last. And a first-liner with McDavid and Matthews to boot. He was proud of his little superstar. 

     The two had been fucking for the better part of a season, and Scheifele's improvement as a player had been marked. The boy seemed to crave his attention, and looked like a kicked puppy if Paul went more than a day without personally acknowledging his presence. With a whole team to consider sometimes players got a bit neglected for a game or two, but Maurice tried not to let it happen with Scheifele. Though a little neglect made the boy even more eager to please, which may be a strategy to even further improvement. Paul would have to keep that in mind.

     But yes, Mark was a distraction. Coach Maurice couldn't help but think of the length of time it had been since he'd last been able to fuck that tight hole and pretty mouth. Which then of course led to thinking about the tight heat of Mark's ass as he clenched around Mo's fingers and cock, or the wet of his mouth as he choked on Coach Mo's dick in his throat. The whimpering of distress mixed with delight when he got an ass plug shoved up him to keep Paul's cum inside him a bit longer.

     The first time with an anal plug had been a glorious day for Coach Maurice. He had called Mark to his office after a game near the end of the season. He felt that the boy was ready for that step of dedication. He had bought his precious forward a moderately small one, to make him feel as comfortable about the situation as possible. 

     "I bought you something baby," Mo had said to the bright-eyed face in front of him. He pulled out a bag and handed it over with the pronouncement. "You've been so good and obedient. And you're becoming a great player. I want you to wear this as proof of your dedication to this game, this team and my cock up your ass. You can say no. But if you say yes you will wear this to every practice and every game for the rest of your time as a Winnipeg Jet." Scheifele was panting and squirming by the time he pulled the anal plug out of the bag. A whine escaped his mouth as he looked up at Coach Maurice with a look of adoration and a shy smile. Mo smiled back. He had originally demanded that Mark buy himself a plug, but the next day had changed his mind and promised to work the novice into anal sex slowly and let him now in the future when it was time for a plug. Now was the time.

     After the loss to Team North America, most people expected some sort of frustration out of the assistant coach. After all, he held all of his teams to high standards. But Coach Maurice left the game with a faint air of satisfaction that noone could understand. In a later interview, he was asked about his hopes for Scheifele in the tournament. He thought of his true hopes - that he'd find a time to take the boy away from his team and fuck him into a wall to make sure he remembered who his real coach was, that he'd find time between games to take the boy out for the first time and fuck him in a public bathroom after a meal. And then he said the things he was actually allowed to say. No less true, but considerably more G-rated. "I hope he gains confidence. He has always been a pro. I want him to realise how skilled he is, playing with these skilled players and get something from that."

     Scheifele saw the interview the next day in his hotel room. Trouba pulled out his phone when Scheifele said he hadn't seen it. "I don't know what you did to get his respect, but he's all praise about you," Jacob said enviously. Mark blushed bright red with the words of praise from his coach, and his cock twitched in desperate need. He had enjoyed spending time with Dara over the break, but sex with her was nothing compared to Mo's giant shaft up his ass, down his throat, the man fucking him and spanking him and praising him. Harsh fucks followed by soothing caresses and gentle words. 

     They never kissed. It wasn't a relationship, as Mark was painfully reminded every so often if he tried to cuddle a bit too long or purred with a bit too much contentment against the older man's chest once his ass was plugged full of cum. But even without a relationship the sex was too good not to miss. Scheifele wondered in his heart of hearts whether a burning desire to have a cock or anal plug up his ass made him gay. He certainly didn't burn for Dara's vagina when he was on the road. But the summer without Coach Mo's cock had been torture. He couldn't wait for training camp so he could get the older man's attention back on him again. Mark snapped out of his reverie to a bulge in his pants and a weird look from Trouba.

     "What?" Scheifele asked. "I said we should get going and you were sort of zoned out and didn't answer. We have to get to the rink." Scheifele nodded and gathered his stuff, wishing he had time to jerk off first, his erection painful in the confines of his shorts. He doubted it would go down anytime soon. The constant stimulation of an anal plug as he headed to hockey rinks at the end of the season had created a bit of a Pavlovian response in him. Even now when the plus and sex were absent, the thought of going to the rink made him hot. Getting ready to go to any ice rink now always gave him a hard-on now, and coupled with the lingering memories of good fucks, he would probably be hard for most of the game. Though if he was honest, Coach Mo had trained him well. He tended to play his best when he was horny as hell and desperate for cum in his mouth and up his asshole.

     He just wished he'd actually get that. Oh well, just a few more weeks and he'd have what he wanted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading lovelies. Hope you enjoyed!


	4. vs. The Rangers

Coach Mo was both elated and frustrated beyond belief. Scheifele was performing better than ever in this young season. Maurice had jumped on the chance to name the kid one of the Assistant Captains and he had not been disappointed. Mark had stepped up in a big way both on the ice and in the locker room; guiding Patrik Laine and the other rookies and racking up the most points of anyone on the team so far.  
The problem was that with the trade of Ladd (the captain he had garnered an arrangement with) and training camp (where Paul never touched anyone for fear that someone not ingrained in the team might find out about the secret acts and tell someone), Coach Mo hadn’t had the time to set up a new arrangement with Wheeler, and had therefore had no time or ability to fuck number 55. The other problem was Wheeler himself. He was too old for Maurice’s preferences, and he had a wife and kids. Mo was fairly certain that Wheeler would have no desire to enter into an ‘arrangement’ himself, and so it was questionable whether he would approve of such arrangements for the rest of the young guys on the team.  
The day before they played the New York Rangers for the first time of the season, Paul skated over to Scheifele during practice. He got as close as was acceptable and leaned towards Mark with the pretence of giving him instructions.  
“Did Ladd let Blake know about the arrangement last year?” he breathed into Mark’s ear. A slight shake of the head in response. “Dammit. I can’t breach it with him if he won’t go for it.” A slight whine escaped Scheifele’s mouth as he thought of having to wait even longer for his coach’s cock up his ass. The noise instantly aroused the coach. “Fuck it. I’ll ask him anyways. I need your tight little ass, boy. Have you been good boy and plugged it for all of the games?”  
“Yesss,” hissed Mark, desperately hard in moments. The pair exchanged a heated glance.  
“I’ll figure it out. Get back to practice. Oh and watch yourself. You’re overrunning the puck. Make sure you have it before you keep moving forwards.” With that, Mo skated back to an observational point on the ice.  
After practice Coach Maurice snagged the Captain as he was about to leave the ice. Waiting for everyone else to leave, he turned to Wheeler. “I need to run something by you. As captain you have final say ‘cause they’re your boys. You should know that Ladd was fine with it, and actually a part of it once or twice.” Mo paused uncomfortably. “Usually my captains are interested so it makes it easy, but I am sure you’ll want no part of it. Just know that it’s never unwilling.” Another pause as Wheeler looked confusedly back at him. “Do I have your blessing to fuck some of the boys on the team?”  
Wheeler frowned. “The whole team?” he questioned.  
“Only some of the younger guys. One for sure but possibly a few more as time goes on. I use it as a learning technique. They like it and I like it, but it also encourages hard work and tend to improve their game.” Wheeler pondered this for a few long minutes. Finally he nodded.  
“One condition. You run it by me first if you’re picking someone new. I want to make sure that they’re okay with it.” Maurice nodded his agreement.  
“You should know the boy from last year then…Scheifele.” Mo admitted. He had expected some sort of shock from Wheeler, but instead saw dawning realisation.  
“He improved so fast and so much in the last year, and he seemed more relaxed somehow. Happier. Always was talking about what a great coach you are, how much you’ve helped him. I never understood because yes you’re a great coach, but you aren’t nearly as hand on as he made it sound…I guess you were though, for him.” Wheeler mused. “He may not be okay with you taking a new boy you know. He seems really attached to you.”  
Coach Maurice smirked slightly. “He will be fine with it if I say he will. This is an arrangement, not a relationship. He has his girl for that nonsense. I come to teach and fuck. Not to coddle and cuddle. If he can’t accept that then we will need to end our agreement.” Wheeler shrugged. It wasn’t his problem. But if he found that the coach’s behaviour was negatively impacting anyone’s performance he would step in and put a stop to it immediately.  
The next night was the game against the Rangers. Prior to the game Paul watched Mark as he emerged from the showers with only a towel around his waist, about to get dressed. He stared at the warm red skin and the droplets of water running down the young man’s back and chest. He licked his lips and caught Scheifele’s eye. Seeing the questioning look there, he winked. Scheifele understood that they were back on and blushed furiously.  
The Jets were losing 2-1. Laine had scored yet another goal, and Scheifele managed to jam the puck in the net to tie it up at two. When he returned to the bench, pleased with himself, he felt a caress on his shoulder followed by a light tap. He knew without looking that Coach was happy with him and it made him suddenly much more aware of the plug jammed into his ass, pressing in harder as he sat on the bench. He cock, always semi-erect during games, perked up all the way and he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning.  
After the game, Scheifele took his time. He had his own room tonight by chance, so nobody would be expecting him and nobody would notice if he got in a bit late. As usual, some of the younger guys had questions for him about their performance that night, and he tried to give them feedback based on what he could remember. Eventually it was just Mark and Blake left in the dressing room. Mark wondered why Wheeler hadn’t left yet. He usually stayed until the others left, but then tended to be quick about leaving when it was just him, Mark and Dustin left. Byfuglien had left quickly tonight, clearly something planned after the game, but Wheeler appeared to be dragging his feet.  
“Good game tonight Scheifs,” Wheeler said eventually. Mark dipped his head in thanks. “So Coach let me in on something yesterday…About him and…well, some of the guys. Or I guess just him and you? Um anyway, I wanted to make sure that this is something you want and not just to please the coach.”  
Scheifele glared at his captain. “Look. I get your concern and thank I guess, but I won’t sell out just to get more ice time or whatever you think might be happening.” Wheeler put up his hands defensively. “I just wasn’t sure this was voluntary ok? I needed to check. I’ll drop it now.”  
“I like taking it up the ass. Is that what you want to hear? Cause yeah, I kind of do.” Mark responded angrily.  
“Ok, Ok! Forget I said anything. Just remember that if you ever need anything or you need to talk or you decide you don’t like it anymore, you can come to me.” Scheifele softened after that and nodded. “Thanks Wheels. You’re a good captain.”  
Once Wheeler left, Scheifele timidly wandered down the hall to the visiting coaches area. The area was deserted except for the lone figure of Paul Maurice, sitting at a table in the corner of the room, writing something on a clipboard. Mark cleared his throat quietly, and got a finger telling him to wait. The coach wrote a few more things then place his clipboard in a bag and looked up at Scheifele.  
“Terrible game tonight. I don’t know what I’ll do about our goaltending situation. Neither of the boys are stepping up like I wanted them to. But you. My diamond in the rough. Another goal and another assist tonight. It’s almost as if you wanted to make me proud. Or…gain my attention? You really are so eager to please, aren’t you?” He crooked his finger, beckoning the boy over to his chair. He pulled Scheifele so that he was straddling his coach on the chair. Mo smiled as he felt the erection pressing into his stomach. His boy was so easy to please. “What do you want, hmm? Do you want me to fuck you and stroke your cock and tell you how much I missed that hot little mouth and greedy little asshole? Would that make you happy? Or would you rather I tell you how proud I am of your work so far this year?” As he spoke, Scheifele buried his face into Paul’s chest and keened, while Mo pulled down Mark’s pants and worked the plug in and out. The praise caused his cock to weep, and a wet patch formed on Mo’s shirt.  
Knowing how much the forward liked it, he stroked Mark’s hair and murmured more praise in his ear. Then, tired of the foreplay, he pushed the boy off his lap and onto the ground. “Suck,” was all the warning he gave before jamming his dick into the boy’s mouth. He fucked it fast and hard, deep strokes that choked and caused tears to well up in the player’s eyes. Spit began to leak out of Mark’s mouth, and the noise of dick on wet mouth made a slapping noise on every thrust. When Paul finally had enough of the glorious willing mouth, he pulled out and stuck his thumb in the still-open mouth. Scheifele sucked on it greedily, his tongue rolling over it as if it was candy. Something about having a finger in his mouth always made Scheifele desperate for petting. Paul indulged him for once, letting Mark rub his head against Mo’s hard and wet penis while he stroked his player’s hair, gripping it and pulling once he’s had enough, forcing 55 to let his thumb go and receiving a whine in return.  
“Such a needy little one, aren’t you?” Paul would usually be annoyed with such dependent behaviour from his boys, but with Scheifele it tended to just be endearing. Perhaps because the kid was never very demanding. A refusal would instantly stop the behaviour, and it just seemed so unforced and natural, that Paul figured he didn’t even realise he was doing it most of the time. He wondered if he was so clingy with his girlfriend, and doubted it.  
Mo pulled Scheifele to his feet, the younger nearly falling as his pants around his ankles tripped him. Paul caught him and steadied him before pushing him over the desk. He pulled out the plug and without further preparation slammed into the waiting hole. After the first few thrusts Paul reached around and found Mark’s dick under the desk. Maurice had never mentioned it, but he loved Mark’s dick. It was quite small for a grown man, and it barely filled his hand. But it made Paul feel powerful. He had a large, thick cock and in comparison Scheifele’s was tiny. It made him feel like a complete dominant over the younger male, fulfilling his desires to be completely obeyed. A boy with a small dick wasn’t about to fight him for control, and wouldn’t be trying to fuck him anytime soon.  
Paul continued to thrust. One, two, three, four. Whispering dirty thoughts into the boy’s ear, panting with desire as the kid moaned underneath him. “That’s it baby, so good. You’re ass. Fuck. So tight and ready for me. I have waited for this for months.” Five, six, seven, eight. “I should take you to my hotel room. Fuck you all night. Into the mattress, against the wall. Make you sleep with my cock up your ass. Would you like that baby? Hmm? Being fucked raw and then being tied to the bed and forced to take what I give you all night?” Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. “Come on good little boy. I know you want to. Beg for me now.”  
“Please,” gasped Scheifele. He had never needed to cum so bad in his life. Every scene described was a fantasy to him. “Please tell me I can sir. Please I need. Please.” “Go on. Cum for me my good little boy. My little whore. You can do it baby. Here you go.” More thrusts and strokes of his little cock and Mark was yelping as his oversensitive penis exploded cum on the underside of the desk. Maurice came inside him shortly afterwards, and grabbed the plug, taking his cock out of the stretched hole and shoving the plug back in. He was fast enough that most of the seed stayed in his boy’s ass.  
“Good boy. Now clean up the mess you made and get to bed. I’ll be expecting a lot out of you tomorrow.” With that, Coach Maurice left the room, leaving Mark to lick up his drying cum off the underside of the desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...maybe Coach is going to break his rule about never taking boys home with him sometime soon? Who knows? Thanks for reading!
> 
> -M


	5. vs. Arizona (Mo's Softer Side)

They won the game against Arizona 3-2. Once Ehlers sunk the third goal they were safe, and although Arizona scored again, it was with one second left. They didn’t have time for the second that they needed to tie it up. It was overall a good game. The team congratulated Laine, Scheifele and Ehlers on their continued point streaks, and everyone fist-bumped Wheeler for breaking his goal drought.  
Despite the praise, Mark was upset with himself. The team could sense it and tried to convince him that he should be proud of his play, that overskating the puck now and then happened to everyone and it was nothing to dwell over. But they knew how high a standard Scheifele held himself to. Unlike Laine who would get mad until he improved, Scheifele would get upset and spend even more extra hours pushing himself for improvement over what may have just been a simple mistake.  
As the guys cleared out of the locker room, Coach Maurice entered and called Scheifele over.  
“Come with me.” The command brooked no argument from the dejected forward. He was prepared for the punishment that he was sure to receive. Yes he’d had an assist, but he hadn’t scored, and he’d overskated the puck more than once, nearly costing his team a goal on one occasion.  
Paul opened the visiting coach’s office door for the young forward and closed the door behind them, locking it for added privacy. It wasn’t often that Coach Mo met with Mark while others were still in the building, but he always made a habit of locking the door for all player meetings, so if anyone tried the door and found it locked they would think nothing of it and leave the two alone. He gestured at two chairs sitting diagonally next to each other, and they both sat.  
“What’s up kid?” the coach asked sternly but not unkindly. Scheifele, who had been staring at the floor, jerked his head up, startled. “Don’t tell me. You think you played badly so you’re beating yourself up. You feel like you’ve let the team down tonight.” Mark swallowed thickly and dropped his gaze again, nodding briefly in acknowledgement. Coach Mo sighed heavily. He’d anticipated another heated fuck with his budding star for the continuation of a point streak, but upon watching #55 leave the ice had realised he’d have to play a different role tonight. His cock was certainly unhappy, but he wasn’t about to have sex with a player that needed something else. This arrangement was about improvement after all, and that included mental state.  
Maurice glanced at his player again. Mark hadn’t moved and seemed to be awaiting some sort of doom. He cleared his throat to get the boy’s attention back on him. He patted his lap and opened his arms slightly, indicating the boy should sit on his lap. Despite his confusion, Scheifele quickly scrambled over and let Maurice move him so his back was flush to his coach’s chest, head resting under his chin.  
“I wasn’t going to punish you Mark. You had an assist tonight. You played well, made good passes, had good positioning. Maybe you weren’t feeling it. So be it. An overskate is a trifling thing, especially when nothing bad resulted from it. You made up for it by helping to get us a goal. You have nothing to be upset about.” Coach Mo had hoped this would be enough to ease his boy’s mind, but instead Scheifele started shaking his head, body twitching as he cried silently. Mo sighed again and then encourage the kid to turn around so he was straddling his coach and the two were face to face. Mark refused to meet his eyes.  
“Look at me.” Nothing. “I said look at me now. That’s an order. I am not to be ignored.” That caught his attention and Coach Maurice was looking into tearful blue eyes. “I said don’t be upset. Did you hear that?” A nod. “I don’t coddle. You know that. I expect excellence and I tell you when you screw up. Are you suggesting to me that I’m soft? That I like your ass so much that I’ll let you slack and pity you when you do a shit job?” Silence. “Answer me now. You’re trying my patience tonight.”  
“No,” came the mumbled response. “Excuse me?” “No sir.” Despite this answer, Paul felt wetness soaking his shirt from the tears dripping off of Scheifele’s face. The absolute despair in the boy’s eyes caused a shift in what had previously been anger into pity for his perfection-seeking centerman. Coach Mo grabbed the boy and pulled him into a tight hug, caressing his cheek and petting his hair. “Come on now baby. It’s alright. I really do mean it though. You played so well again. Shh shh. You make me proud baby. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Come on now. Shhhh,” he murmured, rocking the sizeable human bundle on his lap.  
Eventually Mark stopped crying and instead made what Paul could only describe as purring noises, rubbing his face into Mo’s wet shirt and sucking on his fingers when they got too close to his mouth. Paul quickly discouraged that. He couldn’t in good conscience fuck the boy, and if he sucked his fingers much more he’d be too sorely tempted to resist. Once he felt comfort was achieved, he pushed the boy roughly off his lap. “Alright?” “Yes sir.” A pause. “Umm…thank you Coach. Really. I know you don’t like being…well really thanks ok?” Coach Maurice nodded at him and dismissed the boy with a flick of his hand. He was pleased to have helped, but damn did he hate having to resign himself to his hand after promising his cock young flesh. With yet another sigh, he got his things ready to leave for the night. Maybe tomorrow.


	6. Car Fun

The MTS Center erupted as Scheifele’s shot made it into the back of the net. He and Laine had won the game for the Jets in a shootout. Scheifele was pleased with himself for the first time in over a week. He had played well and managed to score when it counted.  
Coach Maurice gave the team a talk after the game. He expressed his pleasure with how the boys had played, offered up some mistakes they made that they should keep in mind, and specifically commended Hellebuyck and the goal scorers of the night. Despite his good mood, the players noticed that their coach was seemingly strung tight and fidgeting a considerable amount. The veterans knew what that meant, knew their coach was horny as hell. Wheeler stared at Maurice and glanced occasionally at Scheifele, noticing that the young forward looked both happy and anxious. Blake didn’t know how often Paul called Mark to be his toy, nor did he want to know. But he was certain that tonight would be one of those nights. He coughed and tried to get that image out of his head.  
With the team dismissed, Scheifele looked at the coach for some sign that he was wanted. Nothing. His excitement over his game deflated somewhat. Had he done something wrong that he hadn’t noticed? Or…Maurice had mentioned he had had ‘boys’ in the past. Maybe someone else on the team had caught his fancy and Mark was secondary now. Regardless, he knew how much Coach hated needy and mopey players, so he gathered up his stuff and left the room.  
Just as Mark was about to get into his car to drive home, he heard a cough behind him. Whirling around, he noticed it was Paul. The coach was parked across the aisle from Scheifele, and raised his eyebrow at the forward.  
“Hi Coach,” muttered Scheifele softly. He got no response. “You didn’t want to see me after the game. I. Well I was wondering…I know you hate needy and I don’t mean to be. But…I was wondering if I did something wrong. You always said you’d tell me if I messed up and you didn’t say anything so…” he trailed off after rapid-firing those words. Mark expected a number of reactions. What he didn’t expect was laughter. Coach Maurice was chuckling softly, smiling fondly at the young man across from him.  
“I’m sorry. I wanted to see how you would react. It was cruel of me to leave you hanging like that,” he explained. “You didn’t mess up Mark. You played a good game. Keep your stick out of your check’s feet, but you know that. Nothing to worry about.”  
“Then why –“ “I thought I’d offer you something different tonight if you’re up for it. I want to fuck you in a car.” Scheifele had no response to that. Half of his brain yelled that they couldn’t do that because someone would see them. The other half shorted out as all of his blood ran to his cock. Mo noticed him shift his wait and smiled again. “I thought you might be open to that. Get in the back of my car.” When Scheifele stood rooted to the spot he growled “Now.”  
Mark scrambled across the aisle and jumped into the backseat of Maurice’s Lexus. Paul got into the driver’s seat. Scheifele was confused, but Maurice just drove to an unused corner of the lot where nobody would see them, turned off the car and sat in the back next to Scheifele. “Take off your pants.” Mark obeyed, awkwardly shucking pants and underwear in the tight confines of the backseat. Maurice grabbed him and bodily pressed him against the car door. Scheifele heard a zipper and then Paul was pulling out the butt plug and jamming his cock in his ass.  
Mark hissed in surprise and a bit of pain. Maurice like it rough he knew, but usually he got a bit of warning. Still, he wasn’t one to dislike a bit of pain. It usually turned him on even more, and when his ass hurt days after the fact he focused even harder on training, not wanting to let his coach down, wanting a reason to be fucked again. Scheifele’s favourite part about being used by Coach was the way the man always panted in his ear as he fucked him, saying dirty things to him and intermingling the filth and humiliation with endearments.  
“You little whore. Fuck you take it so well. You want this? Want my cock in you? You’re so sad and desperate when I don’t call for you after a game. Even after practices I feel you watching me, wondering if you’ll get an extra fuck for being such a good boy. God you’re such a cock tease, playing so hard and always looking at me like you’re begging for my cock. So perfect baby. So perfect little slut. My little baby cockslut. Fuck.” With that he was cumming, shooting hot seed up Scheifele’s sore asshole.  
He was done fast tonight. Mark didn’t reach orgasm. That hadn’t happened before. Usually he was so desperate from the bit of teasing Coach Mo would give him that he exploded the second Mo let him. Not tonight. Paul pulled out and plugged him back up and Mark whined in displeasure. He always wanted Mo’s cock in his ass. The plug was alright but it was no substitute. Often when Scheifele went to bed he’d leave the plug in and pretend it was his Coach’s cock keeping him full while he fell asleep. He got turned on by the idea of the man staying inside him all night, waking up periodically to fuck him, orgasm and then go back to sleep. He’d pull out in the morning and cum would soak the sheets and leak out of his ass as he showered, his distended abdomen slowly deflating as the cum drained out.  
Movement shook Scheifele from his thoughts. He was still hard and Mo appeared to be getting ready to kick him out of his car. Scheifele turned to face him, an indescribable sound escaping him as he looked confusedly at his coach. Mo smirked at him for the third time that night.  
“You think I’m always just gonna give you what you want? I think, since I fucked you so nice in a new place and you’ve leaked on my door and I’ll have to clean it, that you have to ask for it today.”  
“Um. I would like to have…an orgasm?” A raised eyebrow. “Please Coach. Please let me cum. I’m really. I really need it and. Just please?” Coach Mo licked his lips at the amateur begging. “Please sir!” yelped Scheifele. With that Mo took Mark’s little cock in his hands and jerked rapidly, Mark’s hips thrusting to meet his down stroke. It took only a moment for white ropes of come to paint Coach Maurice’s suit with white.  
“Now clean up your mess,” he said, taking no pity on the now exhausted boy in front of him. Mark scrambled to his knees and licked up the cum that was on Mo’s suit. He kept licking longer than strictly necessary, loving the degradation of licking fabric, loving that he got to lick what was essentially his coach, even if he was blocked by a layer of cloth. Unexpectedly, Maurice grabbed him and wrapped him in a tight hug. “Such a good boy. God you’re special,” he whispered in the boy’s ear.” Mark purred in response and hugged back, his bare cock growing slightly as it contacted the cloth of Mo’s pants.  
After a minute Paul shoved Mark away roughly, pulled up his pants and sent him on his way. After that display of eager suit licking, Mo wanted even more to have the brat to himself for an entire night. Well. They had a road trip coming up. Perhaps something could be arranged.


	7. vs. Nashville (Hotel Room)

The team had begun to tank. Coach Maurice had been so convinced that they would avoid the dramatic downslide that had occurred on this same road trip the year before, but it had happened again and to an even greater extent. He was furious with himself for not expecting the youth of the team to eventually catch up to them, especially with all the injuries. Then again, to a certain extent they weren’t playing to their full potentials either.  
They had just lost to Nashville and the boys looked especially demoralised. Coach Mo yelled at them a little bit and then softened the blow with a bit of a pep talk. Eventually he dismissed them, pulling the captains aside and telling them to work on team morale over the next few days. Wheeler looked like a man on a mission, and Byfuglien looked like he might beat anyone up who tried to keep a negative attitude going. Even Scheifele looked angry. That was rare.  
The team filed onto the bus and got dropped off at their hotel. Paul pretended to be looking for something as he waited for Scheifele to get to the front of the bus.  
“Mark, a word outside please?” he asked. Scheifele stared at him and then nodded his assent. They walked around to the side of the building and Coach Mo took advantage of the moment he’d been waiting for. “You’re angry. You think you played like shit and I won’t call you on it. Well smarten up kid. You did play like shit. No points, sloppy playing and you even took a slashing penalty. Stupid. I thought we were getting somewhere with you. Maybe I was wrong.” Scheifele looked like he couldn’t decide whether to cry and beg forgiveness or take a swing at his coach. “Now. You have two choices. One, you take that plug out of your ass and you stop being my boy. You go cry and punch a wall and then go back to being a regular player. Avoid your ability to be better than that and blame me for ruining everything. Two. You grow up, admit that you fucked up. Realise everyone fucks up and forgive me and forgive yourself. Come with me to my room and let me fuck you as long as I want, let me punish you and then move on and keep learning to be the best you can be.”  
There were long moments of silence. As Paul was about to give up and leave, Mark grabbed his arm. “Ok.” “Ok what?” his coach queried, raising an eyebrow. “Ok I want to be better…and Iwanttobeyourboy.”  
“What was that last part?” Coach asked, grabbing Scheifele’s chin and forcing his head up.  
“I wanna keep being your boy,” he admitted, blushing. Maurice nodded and marched off, expecting Mark to follow, which he did.  
The pair took the elevator up and Mo did a surreptitious glance around the hallway when they got off. The coast was clear so he pulled the young man after him into his room. Mark had his own room because Enstrom had left for Sweden, so nobody would notice if he wasn’t there. Perfect.  
“Naked on the bed now. “ Scheifele nearly jumped to obey and was hard by the time he was sitting. Maurice paused to admire the little cock and then fixed his boy, turning him so that he was on his hands and knees. “That’s how bad little sluts wait for cock. Ready and begging on hands and knees. Now take out the plug.” Mark reached back and pulled it out, whining at the empty sensation in his hole. “Shut up, brat. Bad little fuckholes like you don’t get to complain. If you’re good you get listened to. When you’re bad you get used. I hear another sound and you won’t cum once. Got it boy?” Frantic nodding followed. Mo almost felt bad. The kid was so vocal it may be impossible for him to stay silent. But then again this wasn’t about pleasing the kid. It was about putting him in his place.  
Paul made Mark wait ten minutes. Once, the boy had looked back to see what was taking so long and had gotten a swat on the ass. He had begun to yelp but cut it off fast enough that Paul let it slide. He hadn’t looked back since. Eventually, Maurice got bored and pulled off his pants and underwear. He stroked his large length a few times, then stood next to Mark and turned him, shoving his dick down the boy’s throat. Coughing and sputtering resulted, and he let up for a second before continuing more forcefully than before. He loved ramming the kid’s face like this. Loved that he could choke his boy yet if he came the boy would swallow every drop anyways. Though maybe he should spray some elsewhere if the boy was going to lick it up like he had the stuff on his suit. That had been hot.  
Possibilities furled out in Maurice’s mind so he pulled out of the delectable mouth and stuck his thumb in instead. Mark began to suck on it eagerly. The boy barely had to be trained. He seemed to naturally want to do want Mo wanted. It was marvelous and fascinating. In the back of his mind Paul was concerned about the growing fascination he had for the boy. He didn’t have relationships on the side. He was married. He loved his wife and he fucked boys on the side. That was it. He shoved the thoughts away and stared at the tear-stained face in front of him.  
“Good boy. You took that so well. Now you want it up the ass don’t you?” He didn’t wait for a response, just spun the kid around and slammed in. Clearly Scheifele was beyond eager to obey today. What normally would have earned a groan and whine from the kid only produced a loud exhalation. Paul patted his shoulder in appreciation and felt the boy shiver at even that little praise. Coach Maurice kept thrusting hard, waiting until he was right on the edge, then he pulled out. Pulling on his cock, he shot cum all over his willing fucktoy, getting it on his back and shoulders and the sheets below him. “Now clean it up.” Despite being unsatisfied, his boy reacted immediately, sprawling on the bed and licking up what he could find. When the cum began to dry and had smeared everywhere, Paul told Scheifele to stop. He sat on a clean part of the bed and pulled his boy into his lap, his shirt rubbing against Scheifele’s bare back. The boy was breathing heavily, straining not to make a sound. He started rubbing  
“Ok baby. That was so good. You know how hot you are? God. I – You’re special. Feel better? Forgive me? I know my coaching could’ve been better this last while.” Scheifele looked up at his coach, then nuzzled his head into the older man’s neck. “I take it that’s a yes.” Mo reached down and took the kid’s erection in his hand and jerked off his young lover, enjoying the feeling of the small cock twitching in his hand.  
“I’m sorry!” yelped Scheifele as he came over his coach’s hand.  
“It’s all better now. It’s okay. Good boy, baby. Shh all good,” Paul comforted. “Get some rest. We have all night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments! I appreciate it! :)


	8. vs. Tampa Bay (Alcohol)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the actual pep talk or whatever it was during the Tampa game between Maurice and Mark. Somehow it ended up being pretty much angst and fluff and no sexy-times. Next chapter likely will bring back the regularly scheduled content but I don't know because I don't plan anything ahead of time. I just go where the wind takes me :P Thanks so much for reading! P.s. If anyone else wants to write Maraul(?) fics I would love that. I feel alone over here! Also please help with a pairing name. Thanks!!

Both Paul Maurice and Mark Scheifele had subconsciously expected their relationship to change in some way after Mark had spent the night in his coach’s bed. Maurice had intended to fuck him a number of times and then send him back to his own room, but ended up just wrapping the boy in his arms and falling asleep with him.  
The next morning had been a bit frantic, sneaking Scheifele out of his room at a late enough time that it was plausible someone could be awake and see him. Luckily, they seemed to have pulled it off and parted ways.  
It was a surprise, then, to find that they fell back into their usual relationship with little difficulty. Coach Mo resolved never to spend the night with the boy (or any boy for that matter) ever again, and Scheifele just tried not to expect such a great experience to duplicate itself anytime soon.  
Then came the game against Tampa Bay. The team played well. Scheifele got a goal and the Jets managed to win. But late in the second he had fanned on a shot that would nearly have been guaranteed to be a goal if he had connected. He was frustrated and clearly it showed. Right there, in the middle of the game, Coach Maurice put his hand on Mark’s shoulder, leaned in close, and gave him encouragement.  
“You’ve gotta capitalize on scoring chances. But you know that. You’ve scored already tonight. You’re doing your part. Now get past this one and don’t worry about it. Keep your head in the game and stick with it, yeah?”  
“Yeah,” replied the forward. The speech was concluded with multiple pats on the back that verged on rubbing. ‘Yeah’ was all Scheifele could manage because of his shock. He knew that the action looked perfectly innocent to anyone who saw it, just a coach having a chat with a player. But never – not once – had Mo ever touched Scheifele during a game. Most of the team seemed to have concluded that the chat was exactly what it was, encouragement over a missed shot that #55 was feeling bad about. But Wheeler was eying their coach suspiciously, and raised an eyebrow at Scheifele as if to check that his assistant captain was alright. Mark nodded at him, and Paul whirled to catch Wheeler looking away.  
After the game Mark tried to leave quickly for once. He was sort of embarrassed at Wheeler’s chaperoning and didn’t really want anyone on the team to be aware of his secret relationship with his coach. It had been alright when Wheeler just checked up on him, but the over-attentiveness was bothering him. He was 23 for god’s sake. He could take care of himself. It wasn’t like Maurice was a pedophile or an asshole. He liked to be a bit mean and a bit rough but it was always completely consensual and Scheifele was fairly sure he enjoyed their encounters even more than Coach did. So what did Wheeler know? Regardless, Scheifele was feeling sort of used and sort of like a slut. And not in the sexy way he did when Mo called him that.  
Coach Maurice appeared as if on cue, right as Scheifele hoisted his bag over his shoulder and was about to leave. He quickened his pace to try and avoid the coach, and made it through the door before Mo realised who was leaving and he heard ‘Mark!’ shouted at him. He continued walking, not caring that this would probably look really suspicious to the rest of the team.  
He had nearly made it to the doors of the arena, almost jogging now, when a hand clamped over his arm roughly and pulled him around. A second hand went under his chin and pulled it up so that his eyes met the angry and hurt eyes of Maurice.  
“Mark, what the hell?” he asked, somewhere between gentle and angry. “I wanted to talk to you about some strategies I want to work you guys on next practice and you just ignored me and ran. I had to pretend I’d pissed you off talking about that shot and now I think they assume I’m an asshole.” Scheifele said nothing and looked away as best he could with a hand under his chin. Paul let go of him and stepped back, shaking his head in confusion. “I really don’t know what the problem is. Not at all. And I’d like you to tell me, but maybe I was wrong in assuming it was about me?”  
“You weren’t wrong,” is the only reply before Mark wheels around again and runs full tilt out of the building. Coach Maurice is left stunned and vaguely hurt, wondering what the hell he’d done to get so aggressively rejected in an attempt at conversation. He thought about chasing his boy (was he even his boy anymore?) but decided nothing good would come of it. Usually Mark was so pliant that with a bit of force or a bit of comfort and sometimes both, he would open up completely. To have tried both with no effect was a bad sign. They had practice tomorrow. It would have to be dealt with then.  
Practice was early. 10am sharp. Mark had gone to the bar in the hotel the night before, and though he made it to the rink on time his head was pounding and he felt vaguely nauseous. The team looked at him with concern as he plonked himself down on the bench to wait for warm-up to start. Laine grinned at him, gave him an elbow and whispered “Big night last night?” Mark tried to play along and put up a half-hearted smirk. “Something like that.”  
Assistant Coach Huddy got them going in their warm-up and then started the team on some drills. Mark felt terrible but made his best effort to participate fully in the conditioning. He needed it after all. He had fanned on an important shot, despite how okay a certain someone had been about it. He made it through the first 20 minutes before being cornered by Wheeler and pulled aside by his captain.  
“What did he do to you? Huh? I swear, anything at all and I’ve got your back Scheifs. I’ll have his job in a second I swear it!” Blake said as loudly as he could without attracting attention. Mark just sighed and shook his head.  
“I got drunk last night ok? I’m hungover as hell and I regret it a lot and I won’t be doing it again anytime soon. Is that a good enough explanation for you?”  
“He did something. He must have, the way he touched you last night. You don’t have to be scared Mark.”  
“Could you leave it alone Blake? Seriously. He fucks me when he feels like it and if I ever had a problem with it then he wouldn’t. Whatever issues come up are between us, aren’t your problem, and just make me feel like shit since you clearly think I’m some sort of sick freak because of it. I’m fine, he’s fine. Leave me alone.” With that he skated back to the group, Wheeler feeling ashamed at his nosy behaviour. When he thought about it, he supposed the coach had asked for his permission as captain and had fully disclosed the relationship. He’d have to try and accept it a bit more for Mark’s sake.  
Paul Maurice showed up around ten minutes later. Huddy handed the forwards over to him, taking defensemen to work more with him. “Line up with your line mates and let’s go,” Maurice barked at the group. The next hour saw Paul angrier than usual, pushing everyone harder than usual, and expecting more perfection than usual. A feat not appreciated by Scheifele, who ran out twice to puke in the changing room. Near the end of practice Paul finally skated over to talk to #55. He stayed a normal distance away from the forward, but glared at him and spoke softly enough that it was disconcerting. No mention was made of the night before, only comments on how terrible he looked today and how his lack of focus was disappointing.  
By the time practice was over Mark felt like his body and soul had been put through the wringer. But seeing the anger in Coach Mo’s eyes made him more certain in his decision that he was nothing more than a toy to the man, and any upset on Mark’s part was something to be angered and inconvenienced by, not something for him to solve or deal with in any way. Which meant that Scheifele needed to either get over it or stop being ‘the boy,’ like Mo had told him before.  
He hunched over, head in his hands and listened to the noise of his buddies as they got ready to leave. “Yo M! You alright buddy?” asked Trouba. Scheifele lifted his head and gave the thumbs up, and though Jake looked unconvinced, he smiled anyways and left the room.  
Finally alone, Mark let himself be sick again in the garbage can in the corner of the room. His stomach was twisted in knots that had nothing to do with the alcohol he’d consumed the night before. He was sick about what to do. Whether to keep whoring himself out behind his girlfriend’s back or whether to give up the best sex and best mental hockey training he’d ever had because he was too emotional and concerned with his image. He puked again violently, and nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt a cool hand on the back of his neck. Another stroked up and down his back and then rested on his forehead.  
“There you go. Get it out. Good. That’s good. You’re alright. Shhhh,” soothed Paul, pulling the boy to sit against him once he had finished emptying his stomach. With a sigh, Mark gave in and rested his head on Paul’s shoulder, letting the older man cradle him and stroke him reassuringly all over.  
“Drank too much last night. Sorry Coach,” said Scheifele, trying to pull himself together on the inside. He felt eyes on him and was confused when Mo shook his head.  
“I know it was about me. I wanted to go after you again last night but I hoped that maybe you’d talk about it today. But then I was angry you didn’t trust me and angry you didn’t seem any more inclined to talk today than yesterday. I didn’t know what to do. Plus you looked sick and I knew it was because of whatever I’d done…I hate feeling guilty. Makes me more mad,” Maurice said quietly but firmly.  
“You mean you want to help me?” Scheifele asked, confused. Mo cocked his head.  
“Of course I do! You’re one of my players, you’re my boy and it was about me! I need to sort this out.” Paul was the confused one when Scheifele started to cry. He tried to soothe the kid some more, and eventually Mark opened up. Finally.  
“Blake looked at me. After you touched me? And it was like he was waiting for me to admit I was horrified that you touch me and that I needed to be saved. And I know you just fuck your boys, and they’re your players so you’re good to them but ultimately you just fuck them. I thought about Dara and I realised I’m just a…a slut and selling my body for hockey tips. I hadn’t thought it was so bad but then Wheeler’s reaction…I’m disgusting but I can’t stop wanting it and I just don’t know what to do. And I figured you wouldn’t care and I just had to figure it out and I can’t!”  
“Oh baby. My Mark. My boy. I care about you. We just fuck yes. But that doesn’t mean I want you to never talk to me about your concerns. I want to help you. I like you. And if the names I call you bother you…well it might be hard to stop right away but I can try,” his coach responded, hugging him tightly. Scheifele smiled against him, and buried his face in Mo’s shirt before saying,  
“No. I love the names you call me.”  
“Good boy.”


	9. Wheeler...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those who requested maybe some Wheeler/Scheifele, I'm maybe working towards some? I tried. Thanks to backseatdriver who suggested Scheifrice as the Maurice/Scheifele pairing name. Hope you guys like it! Thanks for your comments it was exciting to get some feedback :) Love. -M

Laine got injured and Scheifele was upset about his pass being the cause of the collision. Maurice ran him through his paces and helped him get over it. Their dynamic seemed to go back to normal, albeit with a bit more communication. But the team kept losing. Hellebuyck seemed to be incapable of having a good game, and Hutchinson was no better. Coach Mo got angry, and then got angrier. He was constantly fidgeting and yelling, trying everything from cajoling to threatening the players. They kept losing.  
At first, Mark had been able to calm the coach down. Mo would take him to his office, fuck him hard and fast and then send him away. He would show up the next day mostly calm once more. But as he got angrier and as fans began to suggest it was his fault the team was losing, even Scheifele couldn’t fix the problem.  
Finally, things came to a breaking point. The team had lost yet again, and Mo had screamed at them on the bench until he was literally red in the face. Nobody knew how to respond to that, and it hadn’t prevented the loss. He certainly had their attention though. After the game the players were laid into in a way they had never experienced before in their (mostly) young careers. Mark packed up quickly, expecting to be pulled into the back office as usual. But it didn’t happen. He got weird looks from his teammates as he sat around with all of his stuff packed, making no motion to leave and get on the bus that would take the team back to the hotel. Coach Mo happened to wander back into the locker room and saw the looks.  
“What the fuck are you doing still here if you’re all packed up? Huh? Looking for more of an ass-kicking? Get out and think about being ready to actually play the fucking game next time!” He yelled at his young forward. “That goes for all of you!” With that, Maurice stormed out again.  
Mark had never been so close to crying in front of a team as he was in that moment. He’d disappointed his coach, let down his team and was waiting around for praise and attention like some spoiled brat. He gulped in a few deep breaths and then hurried out towards the bus. Wheeler followed after him.  
“Scheifs! Hey! You ok?” he shouted at his assistant captain, running to catch up. Scheifele looked at Blake sadly.  
“That’s it. He’s done with me. I fucked up and now he wants nothing to do with me and I had no idea it was coming because I’m an idiot,” he muttered in response. Seeing tears begin to fall, Wheeler surprised both of them by wrapping the younger man tightly in his arms.  
“Hey now. Maurice is being a dick because we’re playing like shit and he’s getting in hot water for it. It’s nothing personal, you just got singled out this time. It’ll be someone else next time. Yeah?” When he got no response he continued. “He’ll look at your big, sad puppy dog eyes and he’ll take you to the back and make it up to you. Whatever it is that you two do…” Wheeler trailed off, uncomfortable.  
“I don’t have puppy dog eyes,” Mark protested weakly.  
“Suuuure you don’t, Scheifsy.” There was silence for a moment as both men realised that they were still wrapped tightly around each other. Blake hastily pulled back his arms. “Better?” A nod. “Alright.” The two got onto the bus and staked out the back right corner. The hotel wasn’t too far away, but the organisation felt it was far enough and had sprung for a bus to make travel more synchronised. The back was the coveted spot because the chairs faced each other and had tables in the middle instead of being regular seats like the rest of the bus. Wheeler sat down in the window seat and Scheifele slunk into the seat next to him. He chucked his bag on the opposite seat to save a spot for Trouba.  
As Mark lay his head back against the seat rest Wheeler ruffled his hair. “Hey!” Scheifele protested, batting the hands away. Wheeler caught the younger man’s hands in his to avoid a fist in the face. Both paused as they again noticed their almost intimate positioning. Instead of letting his hands go, Wheeler pulled Scheifele closer and pushed his head onto his chest. He started to pet Mark’s head and felt the other forward relax into him. He didn’t know what had gotten into him, but the repeated instances of seeing Scheifele so upset had clearly sparked something within him. A sort of over-protectiveness, possibly with something less innocent mixed in.  
Mere minutes after he started stroking Mark’s head, the boy was asleep. The rest of the team clambered noisily onto the bus, and Trouba slumped into the seat that Mark’s bag was saving. When he looked up to give the bag back, he stopped and stared in confusion. “What’s going on Wheels?”  
“He was upset after the ‘incident’ and I dunno. Just happened and then he fell asleep. I’m not about to move him. He’s tired. We all are.” Trouba just shrugged and nodded.  
“You pet his head?” At Blake’s confused look Trouba continued. “It’s something I noticed, rooming with him for awhile. Back rubs or whatever always make him really sleepy. Something about the motion. It applies for everything. Dude can’t even get a rub on the arm without going all boneless.”  
“Well that explains how he conked out in five seconds flat,” mused Wheeler. The sound of the bus door being shut drew the players’ attention to the front. Coach Mo had boarded with the rest of the coaching staff and they were on their way. Paul gave the bus a once over to be sure everyone was present and looking properly contrite, when he noticed Scheifele sleeping on Wheeler’s chest. Anyone other than Scheifele would have missed the expression of pain and rage that crossed Paul’s face, as he otherwise remained passive. As Scheifele was asleep, Blake was unaware of his coach’s reaction. He simply met the older man’s stare and raised an eyebrow at how long the gaze lasted. Eventually the coach looked away, but Wheeler kept feeling as if he was being watched for the rest of the thirty minute drive.  
When they arrived at their destination, Wheeler waited until the bus was mostly empty before shaking Mark awake. He looked around in confusion until he remembered falling asleep on Blake’s chest. “Sorry man. I guess I was really tired. Thanks for being my pillow,” he joked. Wheeler just turned and pressed his lips to the other man’s. Scheifele jerked back in response. “What-?”  
“Sorry. I just felt like I had to try that. See what it was like.”  
“Alright. Weird though man, Warn a guy next time. Sheesh,” replied #55. Then the pair got up and left the now empty bus. Neither noticed Paul Maurice, who had been waiting outside to speak to Scheifele and had been witness to the kiss.


	10. vs Toronto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this written for a bit, but I wrote it on my phone and had to type it up on the computer. SO there was a delay. But I never post on a set schedule anyway so you won't have noticed :D Hope you like it! -M

They were about to play Toronto. They’d won the last 2 games and it seemed like maybe they could get a win streak going. Scheifele was playing will and he was mostly satisfied with how his life was going at the moment. The one thing he couldn’t figure out was Coach. Maurice hadn’t spoken to him in a week and hadn’t touched him for double that. Mark was leaving him be for now, hoping his coach would come to him once he had sorted out whatever was bugging him. Scheifele was trying to be less needy, but a niggling feeling in his brain made him think maybe he had done something to upset the man. He flashed back to the kiss with Wheeler. Mo had been outside the bus when the pair exited, but surely he’d have said something if he saw two of his players kiss…?  
Besides, Wheeler was about the straightest guy Mark knew. He had only kissed him out of sheer curiosity. It wasn’t quite the same as wanting to screw his brains out. That train of thought led to Scheifele thinking about how long it had been since he’d had a dick in his ass. The team had been home recently so he’d seen Dara for Valentine’s Day. They’d had a good time and the sex had been fine. But more and more the young forward found sex with his girlfriend unsatisfying and sometimes even boring. He was the initiator with her, and she was never rough with him. He loved Dara, but he sometimes wished they could be just friends.  
Mark pushed those thoughts away. What, did he think Coach Mo was going to change for him? That it would be acceptable for his much older, married coach to drop everything and be official with him? Especially in the age of mostly lack of acceptance for homosexuals still in sport, what did he think was going to happen? Tying his skates, Scheifele jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder. Looking up, he tried not to be disappointed that it was Wheeler.  
“Hey Captain. What’s up?”  
“Scheifs. Ready for the game? Lots of hype around this one.” There always was with Toronto really. Mark nodded. He was ready. He felt good, felt focused. He’d also stopped wearing his butt plug recently. He missed it all the time, but it felt weird to keep prepping himself every day when the coach clearly wasn’t interested. It was a bit nice to have a break from being hard all the time. He’d admit that much.  
“I’m gonna try and get Patti as many goals as I can tonight. Help him show up Matthews.” Wheeler laughed at that. Trust Scheifele to be competitive on another player’s behalf as well as his own. He gave his assistant captain a brush on the head and watched as he instantly relaxed. Trouba had really been right about that. Wheeler was fascinated. He’d tried different places on #55’s body. Head, arms, back. All of them yielded the same response. Blake really wanted to know why. He’d never heard of such a response in anyone.  
Coach Maurice entered the dressing room then. “Good job on the powerplay Scheifele. You’ll be on it again tonight.” Then he turned and addressed the whole room for the pre-game speech.  
The relaxation in Mark’s body was gone in an instant. Wheeler noticed how the forward snapped to attention the second he noticed the coach, and how he’d tensed when he realised he was going to be spoken to. “What’s with you two?” He whispered under the coach’s speech.  
“He hasn’t been talking to me. Or…anything. So that was weird. Why now?” Wheeler raise his eyebrow. “He just gave you instructions. Not exactly a declaration of love.” Mark just shrugged and looked away.  
It took the pair a few seconds to realise that everyone was staring at them. “Nice of you to pay attention boys. Am I interrupting something? Evening plans perhaps?” The rest of the team sniggered. Wheeler just laughed and shook his head. Scheifele on the other hand had the body language of a whipped puppy. He lowered his head, curled in on himself and hugged his arms to his body. It made Wheeler angry. Why did Coach say things like that if he knew how Mark would react? #55 was sensitive, that much Blake had realised this season. He was a star hockey player, young, attractive, strong, and yet he had the self-confidence of an ugly duckling. Surely Mo must know that, having spent so much time with the kid.  
Maurice was gazing at #55 as Wheeler was thinking that. Paul’s eyes had softened and he almost looked concerned over his centerman. Wheeler’s mind ticked again. Maybe the man really didn’t know how much Mark adored him? Maybe he didn’t know how sensitive the boy was, or how he melted with the smallest caress. But was that better? That meant that the coach had spent over a year fucking or whatever (Wheeler really didn’t want to think about it) Scheifele, without discovering the most obvious traits about the boy. That was a problem.  
Meanwhile, Maurice’s mind was also churning. He was still furious about the kiss he’d witnessed. The boy was his for as long as he wanted him, and Wheeler came swooping in and Mark let him. He’d curled up on the other man’s chest and slept, and had let himself be kissed. Hell, he may even have gone up to Wheeler’s room and let him fuck his tight little asshole. Who really knew? But Paul missed the boy. He’d gone out to find strangers to fuck for the first time in over a year, and the encounters only seemed to fan his desire for the boy he was ignoring. With Mark’s reaction just now, perhaps he’d learned his lesson? But the two guilty parties had been whispering together just before that…He just didn’t know where to go from there. Plus, he was fairly sure his boy had taken out his plug. And he’d told him to only do that if their relationship was over. What did that mean? Should he take it to mean Mark was done with him? Maybe one night with Blake was enough to disillusion him to Mo’s aggressive tendencies. He resolved that he’d talk to Mark after the game.  
The boys lost, but they managed to get to overtime. Laine scored 2 goals, moving him one step closer to the possibility of winning the Calder cup. Scheifele assisted on both of the goals and Coach Mo was pleased. He had known that it would be a hard game with so many defencemen out with injuries, and the team still rallied and generally played well.  
Maurice snagged Scheifele before the team made it back to the dressing room, and pulled him down a side hallway. Mark looked confused and even a bit frightened, and Paul realised he’d been gripping the boy’s arm painfully tightly. He found a door and pushed him inside. Ironically, in a moment of cliché, it was a supply closet.  
“Coach…?” Mark asked nervously. Maurice said nothing and pulled the boy into a tight hug.  
“I need to know. Are you done with me? I’m fairly certain you aren’t plugged anymore, and I can see why Blake would be more fulfilling for you…” he trailed off, still holding his young player tightly. He didn’t want to see rejection in his player’s eyes. Mark struggled and extricated himself from the hug.  
“What are you talking about? Wheels is just my friend, and you’re the one who hasn’t been using me. I figured I wouldn’t bother prepping if you weren’t going to take advantage,” he replied indignantly. Maurice looked at him, surprised.  
“But he kissed you!” Mark blushed and ducked his head.  
“Yeah. It was weird. But I think he was just curious, ya know? It was nothing. I’m sorry if you didn’t like that. I didn’t know you saw and I never thought you’d care. Cause I kiss Dara…”  
“You will never let any other man kiss you or touch you while you’re with me, ever again. Your girlfriend is different. Like my wife. An exception. What you do with her is your own business. You fool around with a teammate again and we are done. You didn’t know. Now you do.” A quick nod from Scheifele and then Mo pushed him against the wall. “Since you aren’t ready for me I think I’ll fuck your mouth today. Get on your knees.”  
Scheifele dropped and had Coach’s fly undone before he knew what was happening. He waited for the nod before pulling out the hard cock and wrapping his hands around it. His touch made Mo’s cock jump and he grunted. He allowed Mark a few strokes before he grabbed the back of the boy’s head and guided it to his dick. Mark eagerly wrapped his lips around the large member and sucked. He paused occasionally to lick up and down and catch drops of precum that escaped the tip.  
Before long, Paul was done being gentle and held his boy’s head in place while he rammed his cock as far down the open throat as it would go. Out for a beat, back in hard. Pause. Repeat. Scheifele was red in the face, tears streaking down his cheeks as he gagged on a sucked his favourite treat. When Coach was close, he pulled down Mark’s pants and shoved a finger up the tight, dry hole, pulling a choked moan out of the full mouth in front of him. He knew it had to hurt, but he also knew that his boy liked it rough, liked a little pain.  
“You have 30 seconds to cum or you won’t be you little slut. Time starts now.” Scheifele keened and started rubbing his small cock frantically against his coach’s leg, humping him while still being gagged by a mouthful of cock, and speared with now 2 fingers. Paul began to thrust his fingers in counterpoint to his cock, finding Mark’s prostate. “Come on you little fuckhole, get off. What’s wrong? Is your tiny little cock too small? Do you need a man’s dick up your hole to show you how it’s done?”  
By that point Scheifele was shaking and coughing and frotting desperately against Coach’s leg one way and his fingers the other way. Mo started counting back from 5, and on 1 slapped Mark as hard as he could on the ass. The boy came violently and Maurice followed shortly after, spraying cum down the boy’s throat, on his face and all over his jersey. Mark swallowed and coughed and panted, clutching Mo’s pant leg like a life raft.  
Paul gave him a few seconds and then looked sharply down at him. He didn’t even have to speak and his boy was wiping the cum off of his jersey and eating it. The jersey was going to stain. But if anyone asked, he figured Mark could just say it was sweat. Nobody would question that. He’d be getting a new jersey shortly anyways.  
Seeing the exhaustion on Mark’s face, Mo figured it was time to get him back to the dressing room. But first…He pulled a spare plug out of his pocket. He’d been carrying it ever since he started suspecting that Scheifele wasn’t wearing his He manhandled the boy around and slowly pushed it deep inside his forward’s clenching hole. Scheifele whined as it bottomed out and he gave it a tap for good measure. “Now be my good boy and never stop wearing that again.” Scheifele looked over his shoulder from his spot on the floor and promised solemnly. “Good boy. Off you go.”  
They staggered their return, with Coach Maurice slowly meandering his way back. When Mark showed up late to the dressing room, Wheeler went over to him.  
“Where were you?”  
“With the coach. He wanted…well. To talk and stuff. It’s all good. Thanks Wheels.” Wheeler smiled and punched him on the arm, but he vowed to himself that he’d keep an eye on his fellow forward for any further signs that he wasn’t happy. If Mo fucked it up, he’d call in his end of the bargain that gave him veto power over this whole extracurricular situation. He’d protect his player.


	11. Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think some of you may hate me a little bit for this. Dubious consent involved. This just happened. Sorry!

Scheifele was feeling smothered. It seemed that the coach was feeling insecure about his boy’s fidelity, so every time Mark looked at Wheeler the wrong way he would feel a stare drilling into his skull. It also seemed that Wheeler was more disapproving of his relationship with the coach than ever, so every time Coach Mo talked to him he would feel Wheeler’s gaze on him. This would often lead to him shooting a glance at Blake, which would then get him glared at by the coach. Scheifele was going to go crazy.   
The ‘bro’ time between he and Wheeler had been amped up as well. Where Scheifele would usually have spent time with Wheeler only in a group or occasionally one-on-one on a road trip, the captain was now inviting him to chill in his room on road trips (he didn’t have to share as captain) and inviting him out for weekly coffees when they had a minute free.   
At first, Mark thought that Maurice hadn’t noticed, but one day on the road after a home game when Scheifele was sitting next to a passed out Wheeler, Paul had passed by. The walk-by was disguised as a trip to the bus’s restroom, but as he passed, Paul muttered to him.  
“You think you can whore out and not have me call you on it? Stop spending time alone with him if you want me to keep you, boy.” Scheifele’s sharp inhale had caused a few heads to turn towards the back of the bus, but by then Paul had already entered the restroom.   
A stretch of home games meant that Mark could follow Mo’s order fairly easily. He turned down Wheeler’s offers to go for coffee, claiming exhaustion, which wasn’t entirely a lie. Eventually, though, the team was on the road again.  
A particularly rough loss against Chicago had Coach Mo yelling at the group once again after the game, and Scheifele was disappointed but not surprised to be ignored by the man. Seeing him disappear with a small blond man after the game, however, hurt Mark more than he wanted to admit.   
Sensing that Scheifele needed some moral support, Blake offered him some time in his captain’s room.   
“C’mon Scheifs. Let Trouba and the other rowdies have a bit of a party in your room, and you can hang with me for awhile. Decompress a little.” Scheifele wanted a different sort of decompression than Wheeler was offering, and Coach Mo’s warning rang through his head on a loop. But screw the coach! He was out doing whatever (or whomever) he wanted to do, so Mark could take some quiet time in his friend’s largely unoccupied room.   
Before he knew what was happening, Scheifele had ceded to Wheeler’s continued needling and not only visited the captain’s room, but also decided to sleep there for the night upon discovering half the team still partying in his room at 11pm.   
Wheeler only got one bed as a sole occupant, but it was a king and there was a ton of space, even for two large hockey players. The guys got into the bed, awkwardly said goodnight, and promptly fell asleep.   
Mark was woken up from a pleasant dream by Wheeler shaking him roughly. He cracked open his eyes at the commotion and made a questioning noise in his sleep-rough throat.   
“Ummmm….” Wheeler glanced down and back up to meet Scheifele’s eyes. Only then did Mark realise what he’d been doing in his sleep. His shirt was rucked up beneath his armpits, pants halfway down his legs. His underwear had a large wet splotch on the front from where he’d clearly been leaking from rutting against the bed. Upon noticing his aroused state, his tiny cock twitched and leaked some more. Involuntarily, Mark whined.   
Blake froze, eyes wide at the sound.   
“You can, um, finish. If you want,” he coughed awkwardly, not moving. Barely awake, Scheifele rolled onto his front and began rubbing against the bed. “Wait stop!” Wheeler hissed. Instantly, Mark froze, hips halfway in the air.   
Realization dawned on the captain at Scheifele’s immediate response to a command. He was a submissive. Naturally obeying, whining in displeasure but voicing no true complaint, melting at a gentle touch. Despite complete heterosexual desires his whole life, Wheeler felt his dick stiffen slightly. Was this what Maurice used Scheifele for? To be his submissive little pet? Dick definitely interested, then.   
“On your back, Mark,” said Wheeler. Mark flipped over. “Do you want to…finish?” Aggressive nodding. “How does that usually work, huh? You rub one out while the coach watches? Or. I bet he fucks you, doesn’t he? Calls you his little toy and really goes for it? Well. Maybe I should make use of such a willing little thing.” A voice in the back of Blake’s mind whispered that this was going too far, that he didn’t really like being dominant or rough, that he hadn’t really gotten Mark’s consent for any of this.   
Mark writhing on the bed at his words and sending more wet into his underwear distracted Blake from that voice. He pulled Mark’s underwear down to meet his pants and told him to get on his side. Wheeler took out his own dick, now fully erect, and inched his hips towards Scheifele. Only when his fingers went to prod at the younger man’s asshole did he realise that the kid was wearing a buttplug. He’d never seen one in person before, and inexpertly pulled it out before just going for it and easing his cock inside the waiting hole.   
Wheeler played with Mark’s little dick while thrusting into him at an increasing pace. Scheifele began to whimper, then whine, then moan a bit as the pace picked up. Letting go of the small penis in his hand, Wheeler rolled so Scheifele was pinned on his front and began to fuck him hard. Through the roaring in his ears, Wheeler heard Mark asking to cum. He made an affirmative noise, and felt the hole around him clench tightly. He reached orgasm himself just as Mark muttered ‘Coach.’   
Pulling out aggressively and feeling sick, Wheeler rolled Mark onto his back.   
“What did you just say?”   
“Coach?” Scheifele murmured, before his half-awake brain realised what the problem is. He sat bolt upright. “Wait. What the hell did we just do? What the hell did I just do? No no nononono,” panicked Scheifele.   
“You knew it was me, right?” Wheeler panicked himself. “Right?” Slowly, Mark nodded. “You were willing weren’t you?” Wheeler pressed. Another slow nod.   
“I need to go now Wheels,” said Mark. Wheeler just grimaced and waved his hand in a shooing motion. “Thanks. For the space and. Stuff.” Scheifele pulled on his clothes and ran out the door. Despite having had apparently consensual sex, Blake Wheeler had a sinking suspicion that things were not going to be alright.


	12. Morning After

The morning brought the usual pre-road game preparations. Breakfast saw Scheifele avoiding Wheeler, not looking at the coach in the adjoining room eating with the rest of the staff, and not talking to anyone. Trouba kept glancing between Scheifele and Wheeler, wondering what had happened. He had woken up at 2am to Scheifele banging on their room door, saying he had to get in. When Jacob tried to ask, Scheifele had stonewalled, saying it didn’t matter and then quickly falling asleep.

                Trouba cornered Wheeler by the toaster at the buffet table, and Wheeler’s answer would have to do. He said that the pair had been up late trying to decompress from the game. Mark had wanted to talk about the game and they had gotten into an argument about errors and strategies going forward. Something about the guilt in the captain’s eyes raised Trouba’s suspicions, but he let it go.

                Things continued to be tense and weird at the morning skate. The rest of the team had picked up on the ‘feud’ between their captain and assistant captain. Nobody knew what to make of it nor what to do about it. The coaching staff picked up on the energy but didn’t know the cause, so a pep talk was given at the end of practice about keeping focused.

                Sensing a tension in his favourite forward, Coach Maurice summoned Mark to his office after practice. He locked the door behind him, and ordered Scheifele to kneel in front of his chair. As usual, his boy sank instantly into a submissive position on his knees, head bowed. Mo grinned. He loved this game that they played.

                “Clothes off.” Scheifele popped back up and pulled everything off quickly and silently, landing back in his prior kneeling position. “Up,” Mo said, patting his leg as he sat in his chair. Scheifele maneuvered onto his coach’s knees, his back to the other man’s chest. Coach Mo grabbed the exposed penis in front of him, and gently squeezed as he began to pull his boy back against the tent in his pants with his other hand. He frotted roughly against the bare back in front of him, sighing though his nostrils as he felt the boy’s little dick begin to leak onto his hand.

                Coach Maurice removed both hands from their resting positions and undid his fly, pulling his cock out though the opening. He grabbed the plug out of #55’s asshole, groaning at the popping noise it made as it slid out of the wet opening. His cock replaced the object in a second, and the up down thrust of his cock into his toy’s waiting hole was glorious. He stood up and walked the pair of them to the nearest wall, wanting more leverage.

                Paul started to really pound into his little cockslut, bending him so his face dug into the wall as he was fucked.

                “Little fucking tease. You just beg for my giant cock every time, don’t you? You little whoring sluthole, I bet you wish I could have my dick in you even when you sleep, don’t you?” It had been a few days since their last hard fucking, so Maurice came quickly, shooting ropes of cum deep into Scheifele’s asshole.

                When he realised Scheifele hadn’t come, he was surprised. When he pulled out and there was no whine of protest, he was concerned. When he figured out why Scheifele’s asshole had been wet when he removed the plug, even though he hadn’t fucked the boy in days, he was enraged.

                “You dare to come to me and let me touch you after you broke the one rule I explicitly set for you? Who was it?” Mo yelled into the panting forward’s face. When no answer was forthcoming, he grabbed the boy by the neck and threw him to the ground. “Who the hell was it? Tell me. Now!”

                “W-Wheeler,” Scheifele gasped, grunting as Coach kicked him in the back. It was restrained, but it still hurt like a bitch.

                “Get out of my sight and don’t you fucking ever dare come back again. This arrangement is. So. Done. Fuck off.” Scheifele groaned, and crawled on hands and knees to his coach. Wrapping around one of his legs like a koala, Scheifele cried.

                “I wasn’t thinking. I was up-set an-d I-I was half-as-asleep and th-en I rem-rem-em,” he trailed off as his sobs blocked his words.

                “Yes or no: you had sex with Blake Wheeler?”

                “Y-y-y-esss.”

                “Yes or no: you enjoyed it?” A whine and then

                “Y-y-ess.”

                “Yes or no: Blake Wheeler asked you to have sex with him and then you let him fuck you?”

                “No. N-n-o-ooo.”

                “You fucked him?” A shake of the head. “Then what about the question was a negative answer?” growled Maurice.

                “I was asle-eep and he w-woke me up and or-or-dered me to do stu-uff and I did and I li-iked it and I did-n’t s-say n-n-n-o but he ne-ev-er asked if I. He didn’t a-ask so nu-no he didn’t as-sk. I didn’t th-think and I sa-aid your na-name and then I ruh-eal-ised,” Scheifele sobbed, rubbing his cheek against Mo’s inner thigh, eyes staring horrified and stricken up at the coach.

                Immediately, Coach Mo’s demeanour changed. He sunk to the ground and pulled the boy into a hug.

                “You’re telling me that the captain of your team for whatever godforsaken reason invited you to sleep in his room. Then you, half-asleep, were given orders. When you obeyed, and he realised the power he had over you, he told you what to do and fucked you. Without asking if it was okay. To the point you forgot who it was that was fucking you and thought it was me?” he asked icily.

                “Wasn’t his fault,” mumbled Mark into Maurice’s shoulder. “I shouldn’ta stayed in his room like you told me. I should’ve said no. I shouldn’ta been such a whore and enjoyed it.”

                “Never call yourself those names baby. Only I can call you those because you know it isn’t true. You know I only mean it in the best way. This wasn’t your fault and I should have heard you out before I hurt you. I’m sorry baby,” Coach crooned as he stroked up and down his boy’s back. “Now, suck like the good boy you are, and let me take care of you, okay?” he asked, popping his fingers into Mark’s mouth while his other hand went down to grasp the baby cock in front of him. Maurice squeezed and released over and over as his forward sucked on the fingers in his mouth. When Mark’s hips were bucking enough, Coach Mo leaned over so his mouth was right at Mark’s ear. “You’re so special. Cum for me baby boy.”

                Scheifele’s little dick drizzled cum out of it, and Maurice wiped his hand on Scheifele’s chest, smearing the cum all over the boy’s thighs and pushing it into his open hole. Maurice plugged him back up with his own seed inside of him, and pulled his fingers from Scheifele’s mouth. Still no whine.

                “Come with me baby. I’ll take care of you.”

                They had a game that night, so usually the team would disperse to their respective hotel rooms and nap. Then they would get up and do whatever pre-game ritual they had and meet back at the rink for game time.

                In a rare display of public physicality, Maurice walked Scheifele out to the dressing room. He waited for the forward to gather his things, and then sat with him on the drive back to the hotel. When the bus arrived, Mo put his hand on the younger man’s back and shepherded him into the hotel. The rest of the team shared concerned glances. Whispers went around that Scheifele was hurt, sick or requesting a trade, and they needed him for the game that night. Wheeler cleared his throat before anyone else left the bus.

                “Mark is fine, okay? He’s not dying, he’s not getting traded. Just some personal problems. He’ll be okay. He’ll play tonight. Let’s leave it at that, alright? I don’t want to hear anyone talking anymore about this.” The boys shared looks but nodded, deciding that they’d rather respect Scheifele’s privacy than spread idle rumours.

                Blake’s stomach churned. The coach hadn’t even glanced his way once on the ride back to the hotel, despite him sitting across the aisle. He supposed maybe the man had just been fully absorbed in Scheifele, but the weird attention meant that something was up. What had Mark told him? Was Maurice just concerned because Mark had said he hadn’t slept well, or was there more to it?

                Meanwhile, Coach Mo had walked #55 upstairs. Scheifele was mostly unresponsive and didn’t seem surprised to be entering his coach’s room. A drastic change from the last time they had been alone in a hotel room.

                “Come on Mark. Sit on the couch,” said Paul, steering the forward by the shoulders and pushing him down gently. “There we go, let’s get you all comfy.” Paul dug around the cabinet for extra blankets, and wrapped them around the younger man’s shoulders. He sat down next to Scheifele and leaned against the armrest of the couch, slowly maneuvering the boy so that he was swaddled and leaning against Mo’s chest. Looking around, Mo located the television remote and turned on some football, keeping the sound low. He stroked Mark’s head gently, occasionally making shushing sounds and rocking him back and forth.

                The man in his arms slowly relaxed and eventually fell into a gentle sleep. Coach Maurice contemplated the events of the day, and tried not to let his anger rise again. That had worked out so swimmingly earlier in the day, clearly. Being angry always led to him hurting the player he had sworn to mentor and protect. Thinking of anyone else touching...fucking…what was his though. He couldn’t stand it. Paul wasn’t sure whether he was more tempted to throw up or punch a wall. A bit of both, perhaps. It’s not like he didn’t know he was a possessive asshole. In fact, he had been nothing but clear about that to both Scheifele and Wheeler.

                Wheeler. What was he going to do about that disgusting piece of shit? To just take something as precious as what Mark gave? It was despicable beyond all reasoning. Yet Scheifele had sort of consented, had supposedly enjoyed it. Maybe he should just butt out of the whole thing and let the two forwards work it out.

                The possessive demon in his gut snarled at that thought. It yelled at him that he needed to avenge the betrayal and mark his territory. To fight for the warm body he liked to bury himself inside of. To hurt and destroy what made his boy upset.

                _You made your boy upset_ , his mind reminded him. _You went home with that boring guy the other day. You made the boy watch your indiscretion. This is all your fault._

                Paul continued to brood, glaring at the wall and clenching his jaw, while he stroked his boy’s head and let him sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you don't hate me. I know a lot of you love Wheeler, and I swear I do too. He won't be too much of a bad guy. Just a misunderstanding of sorts. Please comment, I love hearing your thoughts!


	13. Problem?

                Scheifele awoke feeling warm. There was movement behind him and he wasn’t sure where he was. Thinking back, he guessed he was in the hotel. He had a vague recollection of Paul using him and…oh right. He had figured it out. Of course he had. Though Mark could admit to himself that he’d needed his coach to know about his indiscretion. It would have been so wrong to keep his mistakes hidden and continue getting mentored by a man that had been completely open with him in return.

                Mark turned his head to the side and sniffed as tears landed on the blanket wrapped around him.

                “Hey - hey. Don’t cry little one. I’ve got you. All is forgiven. Believe me. You’re alright,” came a whisper in his ear. Scheifele realised where he was, realised that the movement had been Maurice breathing as he hugged Mark to his chest. Still wrapped in a blanket, Mark struggled to turn himself around so he could bury his face in Paul’s shoulder. He mewled embarrassingly and Maurice stuck two fingers into his mouth. Mark suckled on them instinctively.

                “We will have to have a talk with Blake. I need you to understand his side of this story, and I need to understand his side of the story. Then we have to figure out what to do about what happened. That’s for later. After the game.” Paul took back his fingers and felt a jolt of relief when Scheifele’s plaintive whine sounded in response. Maurice grabbed the forward’s chin and pulled his face up. “Listen to me now though. I need you to understand something. Are you listening?” Mark nodded, eyes locked on those of his mentor.

                “What you did was against my instructions. You know it and I know it. But. I wasn’t playing fair by ignoring you and going off with someone else, either. I maintain a right to do so, but it should be with warning to you, so that you know it isn’t a punishment to you. Plus, I’m not entirely convinced that you had a say in what happened. At the very least it was too close for comfort. Someone like you is…a treasure. You are not to be taken advantage of by straight boys looking for some thrills. Long story short, we need to talk about it, sort it out, and put it behind us. You aren’t going to be punished for this, and while I can’t say I’m not mad – it’s not really anger at you. So we’re alright. Okay?”

                Mutual understanding passed between the pair, and Scheifele burrowed his face back into his coach’s neck, hugging fiercely. Paul let him cling for awhile, and then nudged him. They had a game to play.

                Despite the turmoil happening behind the scenes, the team managed to scrape out an overtime win. Scheifele took a hard hit and was still wincing when he left the ice after celebrating the win with Hellebuyck. He could feel Mo’s gaze on him, though when he looked in his direction the man’s eyes were always elsewhere.

                Wheeler came up to him in the locker room as Scheifele was pulling off his jersey.

                “You okay MarK?” He whistled, seeing the large bruise already blooming across the back of #55’s torso. Scheifele glanced over his shoulder at the captain quickly, nodded and looked away again. Just then, Coach Mo appeared in the room.

                “Blake. With me, please.” His tone brooked no argument or delay. Wheeler swallowed nervously as he followed the older man’s retreating form. He was led to the visiting coach’s room, and began to sweat when the door was locked behind them.

                Paul gazed neutrally at his captain, trying to decide how to broach the topic that they needed to discuss. Eventually, he sighed and went for the blunt approach.

                “You fucked Mark.” Wheeler’s eyes shot to meet his coach’s, alarmed. He had thought maybe Scheifele mentioned something, but not exactly what had happened.

                “Well…uh yeah. I guess that’s what happened. Look, it wasn’t planned or anything. I’m not trying to, like, steal him away or woo him or something. I just want to look out for him, and he’d been upset, and then one thing just sort of led to another…” Paul continued to stare at the man in front of him.

                “You raped him.” Wheeler shot to his feet at that statement, suddenly angry.

                “I did no such thing, and you can’t accuse me of that! It wasn’t a beautiful romantic love-making session, but I never forced him to do anything! Don’t you dare suggest I would ever make anyone do anything against their will, especially Scheifs. Especially when I know…” he trailed off, remembering the obedience of the smaller man against him in the hotel bed.

                “Especially when he’s such an obedient, needy little slut? Is that what you wanted to say?” Wheeler didn’t answer, cheeks pinking at the rude language. “He is. You’re right. But I know how to take care of him. I don’t demand things of him when he’s out of his head. I ask, I tease. I abuse him in the ways he wants, not the ways he doesn’t. I don’t fuck him and then find out he wasn’t aware it was me whose cock was up his ass,” Paul snapped.

                Wheeler sat back down, deflated. “I swear I thought he was aware. He answered me. I got carried away, I know, but I swear I thought everything was going fine! I’m really sorry. Is he ok?”

                “He’ll live. I’ve never seen him as despondent as he was this afternoon though. He’s…precious. He isn’t one to deliberately disobey a lover, and what you did made him break the most important rule I’ve ever given him. I think he did enjoy it. But it made him feel guilty, and it’s a guilt that he should have been in the right mind to take on if he chose.” Wheeler nodded, relieved that he hadn’t seriously disturbed his assistant captain for life. He rose to leave, assuming the conversation was over.

                “Blake.” He turned around, acknowledging the coach. “He is mine. As long as I want him he’s not to fuck around with other men. I gave both of you this one considering the circumstances, but his issues with me are between us. Are we going to have a problem?” Wheeler shook his head no, and was dismissed. Yet in the back of his mind, he couldn’t forget the sounds of his cock squelching into Scheifele’s clenching asshole. The obedience of the smaller man below him. He may have lied a bit. There may be a problem here.


End file.
